


Broken Promises

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [15]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:01:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Bellamy doesn't break his promises.





	

Bellamy keeps his promises. That is one of his fundamental character traits, something he about himself is sure of.  There was one promise he didn't keep, and he is still weathering the consequences of that mistake. After that first un-intentional break of his word, he decided to never do it again, no matter what. Which means he has to stand up, no matter how hard it seems. He gets ready for the day trying – and failing – not to think about the myriad of things that might have gone wrong since he went to bed the night before. He steps out of the tent and makes his way to the canteen.

  
Clarke intercepts him on the way, appearing out of nowhere and falling into step with him. They sit side by side during breakfast, her leg nearly touching his but not really. Miller and Monty come a few minutes later followed by Raven. There doesn’t seem to be any world-ending crisis, and the conversation is light and friendly. He wishes he could squeeze Clarke’s hand under the table to reassure her. She’s always so worried.

 

Bellamy doesn’t see her during the day. It’s busy, and he’s usually kept from the med-bay. Most days they manage to catch supper together, though. She doesn’t talk much anymore, and, when she does, it's only when they’re alone. She usually asks him about his day and lets him vent. Sometimes she'll tell him about her own adventures in the med-bay. They all feel familiar like he’s heard them a thousand times before. Still, it’s nice hearing her talk, seeing that shy, elusive smile. She doesn’t smile much anymore. Sometimes he catches himself afraid he’ll forget how that honest and happy laugh looked like, it’s so rare.

  
Clarke doesn't meet anyone’s eyes anymore and is quick to leave when the group gathers. Not that the others make it any easier for her. They won’t even acknowledge her presence. Bellamy can understand that they’re hurt, that they don’t like the choices she's had to make but… He wishes he knew how to speak to them, show them how much they’re hurting her. Clarke made him promise he would leave it be. So he bites the inside of his cheek and watches her go. Again.

 

Every once in a while she disappears, doesn’t’ come to the canteen and isn’t at the med-bay. Most days, if he doesn't see her all day, he finds her in his tent after supper. She’s usually sitting at his makeshift table, staring at the stack of books he’s managed to salvage. Sometimes she’s slumped at the foot of his bed, blond and blood-red hair sticking to her ashen face, her eyes staring dully at him. She cradles her belly and is nearly unresponsive.

 

“I can’t take it anymore” she whispers. “You’ll take care of them, yes?”

 

That's when Bellamy knows she’ll flee for a few days and hates her for it. Still, he nods, forces a smile on his lips and says: “I promise.”

 

Her smile is always weak and she’s gone before he can say something that will make her stay. It’s better this way, he tells himself, better if she comes and tells him she’s leaving than when she just vanishes. Bellamy knows he can look for her if she tells him, just a week and he can look for her and bring her back.

 

 

Octavia is kinder to him when Clarke isn’t there. They’re still on thin ice, their relationship fragile and always on the verge of an argument. Mentioning Clarke is the quickest way into a shouting match with Octavia. But he’s tired, and Clarke’s been gone for over a week, and he hasn’t had time to go look for her. Nobody else seems to mind that she's gone.

 

“I can’t remember the sound of her laughter,” he mumbles, trying to recall the last time he managed to make her laugh. He's starting to wonder if he ever had.

 

Octavia’s face does something complicated. For a split second, she looks man, and he thinks he's pushed too far; that she'll leave or throw some biting accusation at him. When Octavia raises her hand, Bellamy flinches slightly. Instead, Octavia hugs him, so hard he can barely breathe. She's shaking, so he rubs big calming circles on her back. Bellamy doesn’t understand why she starts crying, but holds her tightly nonetheless, resting his head on the top of hers. He’ll always hold her. Maybe she holds him, too. It’s hard to tell nowadays, has been ever since she grew to be nearly as tall as him.

 

The first few times Clarke vanished, it was difficult finding her. By now he knows exactly where she'll be. Bellamy leaves Arcadia before dawn. He cannot slack off, and he has so much to do and so little time.

 

Dark moss covers the dropship's dark hull, the cemetery behind the makeshift wall is eerie quiet. Most of the older tombs are nearly invisible, just small mounds of soft grass and wildflowers. The newer ones look gloomy and ominous. They have headstones, too. Clarke’s sitting by her gravestone, the early morning sun making her hair glow like a halo.

 

“Clarke.”

 

She looks up at him for a moment. Stares at him with her beautiful blue eyes for a moment, before turning away. 

 

“What are we doing, Bell?”

 

He doesn’t want to answer that. Doesn’t know how to. He’s doing the best he can.

 

“Come home, Clarke.”

 

“It’s useless. This… This farce is not helping anybody” she scowls, mouth downturned and brows furrowed. “I’m not going back.” 

 

Bellamy takes a deep breath and releases it with a tired sigh.

“Clarke, please.”

 

“I said no!”

 

He presses his lips together. Alright. Two can play this game. “Fine” and plops down on the edge of the cemetery, careful not to disrupt the wildflowers.

 

“What are you doing?” she sounds exasperated.

 

“I won’t go back without you.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He leans back against a tree and she huffs. “You have to go back.”

  
“Give me one good reason.”

 

“You promised.”

 

He stares at her. Sometimes he forgets how ruthless she can be. Octavia hates her for it, but he admires that strength, that ability to push everything back and think rationally, to see the bigger picture. He never could.

 

“We’re in this together,” he growls stubbornly. “We’re better together. You…" He swallows, scrambling for something that will change her mind. Knowing perfectly well that nothing will. "You made me see that. Made me go back when I wanted to leave. Now it's your turn. Come back.”

  
Her eyes stare blankly at him. He doesn’t like it when she does that; it stirs terrible memories he’d rather not think about.

  
“I’ve… I’ve never…” his throat feels full, Bellamy can barely see her through the tears welling up in his eyes, but he blinks to keep them at bay. “I-I can’t do this on my own.”

  
Clarke smiles softly at him.

 

“You’re not alone, Bellamy.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

She touches her headstone.

 

“I am sorry.”

 

“Why?!” he wants to grab her, shake some sense into her. His hands itch to pull that hair behind her ear, to press her body against his, to thread his fingers with hers. “Why do you get to come and go as you please? Why won't you do this one thing...!”  _for me_ , he doesn't say _._ Can never bring himself say it. Maybe if he did, she would come back. 

“I can’t, and you know it.” She’s crying, cradling her belly. He truly doesn’t want to see the red splattered there. He wants to take her home, wants to keep her safe. They can fix things.

 

“We need you!”

Clarke takes a deep breath and steps aside so that he can see the tombstone. Her fingers spayed on top of the badly carved name, the C and the crooked E framing her small hand.

 

“Please, Clarke” he whimpers.

 

She doesn’t say anything.

 

 The headstone is cold beneath his fingers, touching it sends shivers down his spine. Bellamy can’t look up, just stare at the name. The E is crooked

“I still need you.”

 

There’s no answer. When he glances up, Clarke’s not there. The stone is rough and cold. He traces the uneven letters with numb fingers.

 

He wishes he could’ve said something different. He wishes he could have made a difference. He wishes he’d been quicker, had seen the knife, had known more about healing. But he hadn’t.

 

And now he has to live with it.

 

Bellamy swallows the lump in his throat. Traces the broad C. In the same motion, he used a thousand times to push her hair back behind her ear; pulls his hand slowly away from the headstone and turns to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Found this just lying around in my folder and I thought: let's impart some sadness among these beautiful folks of the bellarke fam :D  
> Thank you for reading


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